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Noelle dashed in, Brigitte at her heels, and whooped with pleasure at what she saw.
Brigitte and Eric had set up the entire outer room of his chambers for Noelle’s party, with a curtained stage for the puppet show and lots of chairs surrounding it, together with an elegantly clothed table laid out for the most exquisite of teas.
“Brigitte, did you help Uncle?”
“I did, indeed,” Brigitte confirmed. “Given the meager number of hours you sleep, it took two of us to accomplish this by Christmas Day.”
“It’s perfect!”
Thrilled by Noelle’s jubilation, Brigitte darted about behind her, watching as Noelle lingered over every loving detail of their preparations.
A towering silhouette of color in the inner room caught Brigitte’s eye.
Puzzled, she pivoted—and her jaw dropped. “Oh, my … Noelle, look!”
Noelle’s head jerked around, and she followed Brigitte’s stare, gasping as she beheld the full effect of her uncle’s surprise. Her eyes grew big as saucers, her mouth widening into an astonished O.
Eric’s sleeping quarters were no more. The furnishings had vanished, but for a small side table upon which sat a diminutive version of Brigitte’s fir tree, trimmed in full Christmas array.
Or maybe it just seemed diminutive because it was eclipsed by the dozens and dozens of presents that filled the room, some carefully wrapped, others open and on display, beckoning their admirers forward.
Toys, sweets, girls’ clothing of every hue and variety, games, books—a floor-to-ceiling paradise of gifts awaited Noelle, each and every one of them with her name on it.
“Merry Christmas,” Eric said, his voice rough with emotion.
“Are all these for me?” Noelle managed.
“Other than the ones on the far wall, which are for Brigitte. They’re from me to you: for all the Christmases we missed and should have shared.” He cleared his throat. “Well, tempest, what are you waiting for?”
It was all the permission Noelle needed.
She dashed forward, snatching up two dolls at once, together with an armful of outfits in which to dress them. Seconds later, she spied something and squealed, flinging the clothes aside, dropping to her knees to shove both dolls—and Fuzzy—into a three-level dollhouse large enough to fit another half-dozen miniature occupants.
“Eric …” Brigitte wasn’t certain what to say.
“Aren’t you going to inspect your gifts?” he asked, pointing to the thirty or more beautiful, fashionable day dresses and ball gowns that lined the far side of the room. “I hope they please you. I had the seamstress make a variety of styles, in case you prefer one over another. The boxes alongside the gowns contain accessories and undergarments, plus some fragrances and jewelry I thought you might enjoy.”
“How … ?” Brigitte whispered. “When … ?”
“It wasn’t difficult.” Eric closed the gap between them, smiling at the look of stunned disbelief on Brigitte’s face. “You and Noelle sleep quite soundly during your afternoon naps. I used that time to receive deliveries and ready my room—permanently.” His ardent gaze delved deep inside his wife. “I no longer have use for separate quarters, do I?”
“No,” Brigitte breathed. “You don’t.”
“As for the gowns, I sent your blue day dress to the seamstress, who used it for measurements.” He framed Brigitte’s face between his palms. “No one will ever mock your clothing again.”
“I wouldn’t care if they did.”
“I would. Not because I give a damn what anyone thinks, but because what hurts you hurts me. And because I intend to shower you with every luxury life has to offer.”
&nbs
p; “I …” She swallowed. “Eric, I don’t need all this.”
“To enhance your value or your beauty, no—you don’t. But for the new life I have in mind, yes—you do. We’re going to be doing a great deal of entertaining; you, Noelle, and I. Today’s party is just the beginning. Farrington has been asleep far too long. It’s time we awakened it.”
Brigitte twined her arms about his neck, her lashes damp with tears. “1 love you.”
“You’re my own priceless miracle,” Eric replied huskily. “And I love you more than you’ll ever know.”
